So They Danced in the Rain
by hopesallthings
Summary: “Let’s go dancing.” Alice/Jasper fluff. Takes place before they meet the Cullens. Totally random and with no point. Only read if you're extremely bored.


**This one has absolutely no plot to it whatsoever, it's short, and really poorly written. Only read it if you're extremely bored.**

Their clothes were a long ago forgotten mass on the floor, strewn together in the rush and excitement of getting them off. The bed covers lay tangled at their feet, the darkness of the hotel room hiding the absolute perfection of the god and goddess; one a small fairy, the other a herculean prince, though both sharing in the same immortal beauty. The rain pounding against the towering balcony window would have drowned out their soft breaths of unneeded air to any outside viewer, but the rise and fall of her breast against his own naked skin was the only thing he could concentrate on.

Her hand traced his chest, each individual crescent scar being locked away to her memory. Others may have seen the marks as dangerous, but since the first time she had seen his marred face in that vision, she hadn't cringed away.

She had smiled.

They made him perfect; added to his complete and utter flawlessness. She didn't care what anyone else thought; didn't care what he thought. Nobody could convince her otherwise; they were beautiful. They were right. They belonged beneath her hand.

He watched her delicate fingers, relishing the feeling of her light touch, still disbelieving that the glorious creature lying on top of his naked body was his. He didn't deserve her.

And yet there she was.

For the first time he could remember, fate was starting to turn in his favor.

"Tell me something else," her high, singsong voice demanded, though she didn't look up from her recent fixation of the one just below his collar bone. "Tell me something I don't know." Her index finger followed the curve. "Something you haven't told me yet."

His arms wrapped tighter around her waist as he stared at the textured ceiling. "When I was eight I had a cat."

Her lips tugged up slightly, trying to picture him at eight, his skin untouched, eyes big and innocent.

His eyes.

"What color were your eyes?" The sound of her tone would have made someone think the question was the most important one in the world. To her it was.

There was silence for a moment as he thought about the question, trying to remember. After a long pause, his quiet voice hesitantly answered. "Green, I think. Ain't positive though. Never really spent much time looking in mirrors."

"Green," she softly repeated to herself. Her lips tugged up further as she imagined the shade they would have been; the warmth they held. "What was your cats' name?"

Quickly, he began scanning through lost memories, trying to recall what it was. It was a girl, a nasty feline with a temper, he knew that. Dark. Either black or brown. Thought it was black. Scrawny; the bones protruded under its' skin at some places.

Name?

"Don't remember," he whispered, pushing his mental power to the limits as he tried to force an answer to come, though all he hit was a blank wall. "She used to chase the mice out by our barn. My little sister would always go and play with her. Can't think of much else."

There was another silence as she tried to think of another question. One she hadn't asked yet. She wanted to know everything about him.

Everything.

She just wasn't sure how much more there was.

Her fingers lingered above a new scar, one that rested at the bottom of his neck. "How'd you get this one?" It came out as a breath, an almost inaudible whoosh of air.

He didn't hesitate in telling her about how foolishly he had let his guard down for that one millisecond; how the female newborn with the wild eyes and flaming blond hair had come up behind him. Normally he would have been ashamed to talk about it. At the beginning, when she had first asked him about a scar, he had been. It was only a week after they had met in the diner. She had been holding his hand, and asked about one on his palm. Ever since then, it became easier and easier to talk about them. It was impossible to feel self-conscious around her anymore. She made it impossible.

Listening to the never lighting rain, he waited patiently for her to ask her next question, though the next words out of her mouth startled him.

"Let's go dancing." The comment was so sudden, so random, that even she surprised herself by saying it.

He tested her emotions, trying to find the jest, but all there was was complete sincerity. "Alice, darlin', it's the middle of the night." He leaned back, trying to catch her gaze.

She just nodded, unwavering in her completely somber expression. She wanted to dance. That's all that mattered to her.

"There really ain't anywhere to go," he hedged further, trying to inconspicuously point out the lack of reason to her plan.

All he got was a shrug, and a glistening smile that left him momentarily breathless. "We'll dance here." With that she got up, gracefully stepping around the room, throwing her clothes on while shoving his own towards the bed he still occupied.

Sitting up slowly, he began pulling his wrinkled shirt on, though his eyes remained fixed on her, questioning. "In the room?"

Her chiming laugh seemed to make the air itself glow. "Of course not in here, there wouldn't be any space." The movements slowed to a halt as her eyes glazed over, and after a few seconds she looked back towards him, her smile growing, her humor suddenly spiking new levels. "We'd break the bed lamp and the closet door." Her expression once again turned completely solemn. "We'll go out on the balcony."

All he could do was stare at her, stunned at the logic of all of this. "It's raining," he said flatly, though she didn't even pause to pay him any mind as her fingers swiftly combed through her messy hair.

"I can see that. Now put your pants on."

The arguments that he was forming in his head cut off as he gave up. There was one simple fact that he had learned in the past few months; fighting with a psychic was a completely useless waste of one's time.

And so he put his pants on.

He had just barely finished pulling up the zipper before she grabbed his hand, dragging him out the door with her and into the pounding wetness. She eagerly grabbed at his shoulder, taking her other hand in his, and began waltzing before he had the chance to get even the slightest bit situated.

The downpour thundered on, soaking through their clothes within minutes. It probably would have been freezing to a human, though both quickly found themselves too caught up in the eyes of one another to take much notice.

With one steady jump, she wrapped her legs easily around his waist, her arms clutching around his neck as her bare feet left the ground, trusting in him completely not to let her fall. He continued twirling, hugging her closer to him, breathing into her neck.

She giggled, the sound filling in any dark spaces.

The two could only imagine how they'd look to any passerby; twirling out there in the middle of the night in the rain on a hotel balcony. Still, neither could bring themselves to care if someone did see. Didn't matter. They were there right then. Everything else in the world was irrelevant.

She heard the next words only a second before they were spoken. "Midnight." He looked down at her, the triumph he felt carrying off to her. "Her name was Midnight, because of her dark coat, and the way her eyes would glisten in the moon."

"Midnight," she murmured, testing the name out on her lips. It fit. "It's a good name for a cat."

He just nodded, once again caught up in her exquisite features.

Tiny.

Tiny and perfect.

"We need music," he whispered, and she could feel him smiling against her bare skin.

Burying her face into his hair, she played lightly with the collar of his shirt, her own smile still in place. "That's what the storm's for."

So they danced in the rain.


End file.
